


Trick or Trois

by MostFacinorous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances of the supernatural sort, Multi, Pack Bonding, Threesome - F/M/M, bulging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostFacinorous/pseuds/MostFacinorous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came to and tasted ash. <br/>Ash and something fruity, or maybe floral. Sweet. Bitterly so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trick or Trois

He came to and tasted ash.   
Ash and something fruity, or maybe floral. Sweet. Bitterly so. 

He panicked as his vision swam slowly into focus, and he found himself shirtless and bound, the concrete at his back already warmed to his skin temperature—he'd been there a while. He didn't know how long though, and so it was impossible to tell if he was underground, or in a room without windows, or if it was just night time… none of which were great options, all things considered.   
No windows and underground would make it hard to get away, and if it was night already, his dad was sure to have noticed him missing, and he didn't know how he would explain that away. 

He let his head fall back against the—pillar? Pillar—there were more of them down here—the pillar he was chained to. Tied. Ropes, not chains. Meaning it was probably not hunters. They tended to favor metal since their usual prey could snap ropes like they were dental floss. 

A traitorous little voice in the back of his mind mocked him. Sure would be nice to be that strong now, huh? 

He glared around, ignoring the voice and trying to remember how, exactly, he got here. And when he did remember, he groaned. 

"Not fair. Right in my Achilles heel. Not that I'm Achilles or anything, but still, rude much?"  
He yelled it to be sure he was heard, in case Lydia, or whoever had blackmailed her into helping to lure him away, was around.

His voice hadn't even stopped echoing off of the walls around him when he felt more than heard someone come up behind and beside him, leaning around the pole at his back.   
When they spoke, he could feel breath on his cheek, lips that almost touched his ear. Facial hair that did. 

"No, not Achilles—you're far more of an Icharus." He kept his voice low, barely more than a whisper, and Stiles didn't recognize it.

"Well we're learned. That's super charming. I definitely know I'm not in crazy psychopathic murderous hands now. …oh just kidding." His voice fell flat as Peter circled around into his view. 

All de-scarified and not hairy and not gushing blood or killing things or threatening immediate harm, he was still plenty scary. Or at least, intimidating. 

"Stiles. Always a pleasure. And I think you know Lydia?" He motioned and she circled around Stiles from the other side of the pillar.   
And if everybody thought Erica went wow when she wolfed out—she didn't even hold a half a candle to Lydia.   
But…  
"How?" he choked out, ignoring her cute little finger flutter of a greeting. Instead, he nearly spat his question at Peter. "How did you change her?"

"Oh, I'm not a wolf, silly." Lydia spoke in her popular girl simper, but despite her words, there was something feral about it.

"No, Stiles, she's not a werewolf. I'll let you in on a little secret though—something you and I both know you have always known: Lydia is better than you." Stiles made a small indignant noise, but he didn't argue it. It was sort of impossible to do so, anyway.   
Still, Peter clucked his tongue against his teeth.   
"Don't take it personally, Stiles. She's better than any human. Lydia here is a host." Peter had pulled her closer to him with a proprietary hand on her shoulder, and now began stroking her hair, clearly taking in the contrast between the color of it and the skin of his fingers. 

"Hey, so, can we do the educate Stiles time without the creepy petting part? Because that's creepy and distracting, please and thanks. What, exactly, is a host?" 

Lydia pulled away from Peter to look Stiles dead in the eye.   
"Smarter, faster, better than you in every conceivable way. Are you jealous?"

"Of you or him?" Stiles's mouth worked faster than his filter, and he set his jaw stubbornly, hoping to keep anything else like that from coming out.

"Lydia, play nice." Peter reproached her fondly, and she backed up, smirking, right back to his side.   
"Lydia is like a multi current battery. She stores power—every sort of power. Intelligence, charisma, knowledge, strength of will—she hosts that all in this incredibly attractive little frame, and when she lets it loose… well, you've seen how she is. All I had to do was show her a little respect, tell her the truth. There's power in that, too, you know. And in return, I have the start of exactly the sort of pack I have always wanted. Power, intelligence… That's why you're here, Stiles. Have you reconsidered my very generous offer yet?"

"Um." Stiles was still absorbing. It took him another second of staring at suddenly even hotter Lydia before he shook himself. "Yeah, it's still no. I still have people who need me to be human. Starting with me. So If you want to just… let me go…?"   
Peter didn't say anything to Stiles, instead turning to Lydia, and patting her shoulder, some sort of non verbal communication. 

She slunk forward, pressing her awesome, super amazing, soft—eyes, eyes, Stiles was looking at her eyes—  
"Did you know that packs share everything, Stiles?" Her voice was low and throaty and woah. This was really not fair. "I know you've wanted me since we were kids. Would you really throw away your chance now?" She nuzzled at his neck, rubbing her nose against him in tiny circles. 

"Did he drug you? Did you drug her?" He switched his attentions back to Peter, trying not to acknowledge how tempted he was, and what his reaction to the offer had been.   
"Not at all. Really, you know, you had every opportunity to tell her about your friends, her boyfriend, but no. Secrets and lies. It's all secrets and lies with those wolves. I won't stand for it in my pack. So, in the interest of full disclosure: Lydia is also going to be bearing us good, strong pups. Hosts are very compatible." 

"Whaaaaaaat. The fuck." Flat, incredulous. Disgusted. Maybe a little—nope, definitely no positive responses. That would be weird, and make the situation more fucked than it already is. 

"Not right away of course—there is so much I want to do first. So much we want to do. But don't you want that, Stiles? Me? The bite? The power? The respect? A family that won't ever leave you?" She had that wheedling tone again, clearly trying to get something out of him. 

"This is crazy. Listen to yourself Lydia, listen to what's coming out of your mouth. This is some Manson Family type stuff, okay?" He sounded nearly hysterical.

"Stiles." Peter's voice was firm, and somehow that was oddly calming. "I want you in my pack, and there are only so many times that I will accept no for an answer, before you start dealing with the repercussions of denying me. You see, Stiles, I am accustomed," He slid his hands around Lydia's shoulders, and pulled her back against his chest. "To getting what I want. You understand, I'm sure, don't you, pet?"

Lydia didn't seem inclined to answering verbally, instead turning her head and locking eyes with Peter, before moving in to kiss him, and woah--

"Look, a wise man once said, you can't always get what you want. But if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need." Stiles babbled it out like lyric tourettes, and Lydia paused, her moment shattered, her face twisting towards him to glare. And glaring was good—glaring was not macking on the creepy crazy werewolf. 

"He's wasting our time." Lydia's voice had gone sharp, dismissive, closer to what he was used to, what he expected from her. "I say you should bite him or let him go—we have other, more pressing matters."   
Stiles didn't miss the backwards shift of her hips, the way she was pushing herself back and into Peter's crotch. 

Wow. This was… this was bonkers.

"What does Jackson think of all this?" He squeaked it out, and Lydia broke away from Peter entirely, striding forward to slam her fist against the pillar, right beside his head. 

"Why would he care? He doesn't care about me, respect me, want me—not like Peter does. Not like you claim to. Not even Allison was there when I-- Don't assume you know anything about anything, Stiles, because you would be very, very wrong."   
She retreated again, eyes narrowed in distaste. 

"Charming." Peter remarked, and the fucker was actually cleaning his nails. "Lydia's right though, Stiles. Are you sure you won't join us? Think about it. Think long and hard, and consider that I've drugged you and kidnapped you, and I've dangled the girl you've loved for eight years in front of you as a means of enticement. I can't think what more I might offer you—I will have to resort to blackmail and threats after this, and that's just unpleasant all around, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh." Stiles cast about for some means of getting what he wanted out of this—walking away, no one getting hurt. Taking Lydia with him, if he could, getting her away from Peter until her logic started working again… keeping his father safe.   
"Look, I don't want the bite. I can't—not now. You want me in your pack, you want me willing, not under duress, right? Can I be pack, as a human? Derek said that your family was humans and wolves both—what if… what if I agree. As a human. At least for now? Would that work for you?"

Peter frowned at him, head cocked to the side. 

Stiles tried to spread his hands, tried to widen his eyes and look as open and trustworthy as possible.

"I want you to promise me—slowly, so I can hear your heart—that you won't use 'pack' as a means of working against me. That you'll be as loyal to me as you have been to Lydia, as you are to Scott, to your father—that you will treat us as your family, and not hurt us. Can you promise me that, Stiles?" 

He never asked that pack come first. Just that it come even with.   
"As long as you aren't trying to hurt someone I love, yes. I promise." He meant it. And he hated himself for it. 

Peter, however, appeared surprised, then pleased. 

"Lydia, why don't you untie Stiles? I think we should show him the respect a member of this pack deserves, don't you agree?"

A significant look passed between them, and Lydia crossed behind him, and soon he felt the knots being worked on.   
Meanwhile, Peter prowled around in front of him, his pacing making Stiles nervous.   
He didn't know what came next, and when the ropes dropped, he stood rubbing out the soreness where they'd constricted.

But apparently what came next was being pushed back against the pillar by Peter's proximity, swallowing hastily as he leaned in to—

"Seriously, are you sniffing me? You know where I've been and who I hang out with. Stop it." And without thinking, Stiles' hands came up and pushed Peter back. 

Both their eyes went wide, and Lydia let out a laugh. 

"He's not afraid of you. Must be nice." She shouldered her way in, and pressed her lips to Stiles's. He ended up thunking back against the pillar, surprised, before he thought to bring his arms up, and hold onto her, and return the kiss. 

"Welcome to the Pack." She told him, and pecked him once more, before turning to shoot a smug look at Peter. 

"I- yeah-welcome." Stiles was mildly stunned, and with the slip in his guard, Peter pressed his advantage, moving in and giving a mind boggling follow up of Lydia's performance. 

And if Stiles was confused by the soft slide of lips and gloss, it was nothing compared to the teeth and tongue and beard burn that Peter brought to the table. 

Head swimming, Stiles was finally released. 

"Feel it, Stiles? We're more connected already. Just a cute little pack of three. Four, when Scott joins us. Five, when that idiot puppy follows him. And then the other two after him… and maybe, eventually, even Derek himself. One. Happy. Family. What do you think?" Peter prompted, his stance lazy and relaxed.

"I think if you plan to keep up with the makeouts, you should probably drop the family stuff. Because if I start thinking of you as Uncle Peter, and Lydia becomes my first cousin, years worth of fantasies are going to take a very uncomfortable turn. And I'm thinking no one wants that, probably."

"I thought you didn't want to breed me?" Lydia looked smug. "That was just your initiation. If you want more of it, you realize you'll have to earn it, right?"

"I d—that's not—I wasn’t implying we would—or that you should, you know, no, I just… wow. Um, I'm sorry. Stiles is an idiot." 

Again came that tsking, and when Peter spoke, it was fondly.   
"Not an idiot, no, just ignorant as to his place in the pack. What do you think, pet? Should we show him? Should we demonstrate how pack works?"  
If Lydia had a tail, it would be wagging. As it was, she just looked like the cat who had gotten the cream. 

She slunk up to Peter, and he spun her to face Stiles, sweeping her hair out of the way so that he could press a kiss to her neck, while she tilted her head and moaned, lips parting to let out the sound. And Peter didn't blink, just stared straight at Stiles, almost like a challenge. 

Stiles, for his part, just shivered. 

He wasn't sure if there was some sort of weird connection between them, now that they were pack and all, letting him feel like his neck was being licked, letting him taste her skin… or if he just had a really, really good imagination and an overly active case of teenaged hormones.

But he lost track of worrying about that as Peter's hands slid down her sides, and his fingertips curled in the hem of her dress, pulling it up.  
She raised her hands to help him, like a child eager to be out of their Sunday best. 

And yeah, Stiles had seen her naked before, and it had caused him to faceplant, but that was different—he'd been worried out of his mind about her, he'd been glad to see her safe, and upset to see her so… destroyed. Teary and dirty, hair mussed like it hadn't been since they were both in gradeschool—this was different. This was her looking gorgeous, and put together, and looking at him, her pupils blown out as another man ran his hands up and down her body, and she reached back and crossed her arms behind her neck, arching her spine, and making her already ample breasts look perfectly round and soft and—

"Do you want to touch her, Stiles?" Peter's voice was invasive, and he frowned. 

"A-actually I think I should go home now—"

"What do you think Lydia? I think the Sheriff would make an excellent wolf, don't you? Might even be good for his title, sniffing down perps…" 

"Ok, alright, I get it. Staying. God, you are so messed up."

Lydia turned around and unbuttoned Peter's shirt, dropping it on the ground, before bending at the waist and sneaking a glance at Stiles while she popped the button of his pants open.

He didn't even try to pretend he wasn't admiring her butt, encased in those tiny lace trimmed light purple panties, or her lower back where she got all tiny right before she went boom in either direction, or her legs—nah, he was checking all of it out. 

You know, for his dad's safety.   
And then Peter was stepping out of his pants, and Stiles felt overdressed and disinclined to change that.   
She slid up him as she straightened, and Stiles wondered what kind of yoga dance exercise thing taught her that, sort of dimly in the back of his mind. Because he was shaking a bit, and definitely not imagining being able to feel her hands on him now.   
Or Peter's hands on her for that matter—he could feel nearly as well as he could see his palms sliding over the globes of her ass, the purple fabric stretching over the backs of his fingers, making it that much more interesting to look at, making it that much harder to look away from and back up into Peter's face.   
He stared still.   
"Stiles." He said, not a question or an invitation. Just his name. And he ran a warm hand up Lydia's spine.   
Stiles shivered and straightened against the phantom fingers on his back.   
And then gasped as Lydia dropped to her knees, and pulled Peter free of his boxers.   
He was feeling this. He could feel her hand on him and Peter--

He's long. He's so long and Stiles doesn't know how he expects that to fit inside of Lydia because she's pretty petite, and… And he catches himself straining to see, trying to catch the little details, and she just lets out this horribly pornographic ohhhhhh and then Peter's inside of her mouth.  
There's a wet slide and friction and Stiles isn't sure if it's physically possibly for him to cum without being touched for real at all, but he thinks he just might. 

After a few moments, Peter lifted Lydia back to her feet, much the same way he'd lifted Stiles the night he bit her. Only now there was less immediate threat of death and oh, god, tongues sliding together, and it was so… Peter closed his eyes, and suddenly Stiles felt nothing.   
He sagged back against the pillar in relief, now completely aware of how taut every muscle in his body had gone, how his mouth had fallen open and he was panting, now able to differentiate where his hard on ended and Peter's began. 

And then Peter opened his eyes again, met Stiles' gaze, and every touch, every point of contact, came crashing back down on Stiles's poor, confused body.   
Peter chuckled and picked Lydia up in a bridal carry, kissing her again, his eyes devoted to her face as he lowered her to the floor, cradling her head in his hand like it was the most precious thing. 

And oddly, of all that had happened so far, this felt like the most intimate thing to have happened yet. Stiles crossed his arms around himself and looked away.   
When he looked back, Peter was sitting, his hands back, legs spread out on either side of Lydia, and she was on her knees, her hands on his thighs—and, as soon as he saw it, he felt it, hands going sweaty and mouth going dry. 

He's not sure, but he would wager that hosts are somehow related to vacuums. At least, that was the theory his brain decided to make when she started pulling, her cheeks hollowing, her tongue dancing up his—Peter's— wait no come back.   
She was getting up, peeling her underwear off, and crouching over him, and, God, how long is he? That's… Stiles is a little terrified for her, honestly.  
But she's lowering herself onto him, facing Stiles, and she's muttering something about how she just wants him inside of her and—stiles gets a momentary reprieve as Peter presses a hand to her cheek, turning so she's looking at him over her shoulder, and he raises his hips up to meet her as she sinks down entirely.

The moment she's seated, he breaks his eyes away from her and looked over at Stiles.   
Stiles licked his lips, not really capable of cataloguing how it felt, even in his own mind. All that came out was a muted 'Oh.'

"You haven't seen anything yet." Peter informed him very calmly, and he lay back, propping himself up on his elbows. 

They've done this before, Stiles realizes, because Lydia puts her hands behind her, leaning back while she raises her hips up, and on the downwards thrust, Stiles's eyes are drawn to her stomach, where—that's not actually possible, is it?

Apparently it is. She balances on one arm while she raises herself up again, and then when she lowers down, she rubs the skin over where Peter's cock is bulging her stomach up in a bump.   
And then it's his turn to groan like he does it for money.

And Stiles is sliding down the pillar, because he's not able to stand any more, and this time when Peter calls his name, it's a command. 

He crawls towards them, well aware that this is what they want, but at this point he wants it pretty badly too, and his pants are too tight, as proof, and he's got to reach down and readjust himself, and they haven't stopped.

He stops short, and finds himself kneeling, just a couple of paces away from them, and from here he can smell it, can see the faint sheen of rising sweat. Lydia's mouth has fallen open and her forehead is knotted with pleasure, and low moans that don't escape her throat are sounding in time with her rise and fall. But she's staring at him from under heavy lids and he feels it, feels him inside, feels what it's like being inside, but he's still aching, needing…

A whine escaped his mouth, and Lydia reached out for him, so he came closer. His eyes flicked up to hers, and he leaned far over, nearly laying on her, while he pressed his trembling lips to hers, eyes closing against it all, and she took his hand, and ran it down over Peter's hand on her breast and to her lower stomach, and, oh god, he could feel Peter bumping against his palm through her skin, warm and smooth, soft skin and hard press of muscle under it… 

He moaned, and Peter let out a slightly breathless chuckle.   
"That's right, Stiles." He spoke softly, so quiet and smooth and afraid to break the tension around them all, but Stiles was gone.   
He pulled back to dip his head down, pressing a kiss to her stomach and then mouthing at him through her.   
The noises that came from both Peter and Lydia at this made Stiles' head swim. 

"I want him." Lydia gasped out, and Peter stilled, buried in her. She rocked forward on him, then back again. "Pack, right?"   
Peter smiled, his lips thinning. 

"Oh, yes, absolutely. Pack." And again came that air of danger, and Stiles sat up, meeting Peter's searching stare, intimidated by it, but at the same time feeling the almost uncomfortable loss when Lydia pulled herself off of Peter because of it. 

He swallowed, brain scrambling to keep up. Peter was showing him who was in charge, and he got that, and this—well, better than the killing people initiation he'd tried with Scott. 

Much better, actually, considering that Lydia was pulling at him, making him stand so she could pull at his pants. He pulled his shirt off over his head, nervous because of Peter's stillness, his lack of involvement, but then his pants were hitting the floor and Lydia was snorting at his Batman underwear, and then those were pulled down to his thighs as well, and Peter was there, behind him, pulling him backwards, maneuvering him onto the floor, and he was tensed and trying to resist the urge to fight, even though his cock was hitting his stomach and dripping and his pants were tangled around his sneakers. 

"Stiles. Stiles relax. I'm not going to hurt you. Pack, remember?" And he didn't have the super wolf heart beat truthometer but it sounded—felt—sincere.   
He relaxed and let Peter sit with his head on one thigh, Peter's monster dick visible out the corner of his eye, smelling heavily of Lydia—who was pulling off his shoes and socks and pants and underwear. 

He was shaking, and he suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, ashamed, and he was just so needy and even without fighting, he was tensed up beyond belief, and he couldn't stand the tension any more, he was just vibrating like a Chihuahua. And it was embarrassing. 

And suddenly everything tilted on its head. Peter ran gentle fingers through the short fuzz of his hair, and Lydia was stretched out, lying flush against him, the concrete cold and hard under them, and yet she was warm, and Peter was warm, and Stiles wanted but he curled in towards her warmth, rolling onto his side, putting Peter's cock between the two of them, but her huge dark eyes visible over it. 

Peter's other hand was tangled in her hair, and she reached for Stiles, drawing them closer together.   
She smiled at him, not her 'I'm a popular girl, keep on a happy face' smile, but something much more relaxed, comfortable, delighted. 

"Do you feel it Stiles? The pack bond… it's…" she didn't seem to have words for it, but he understood. Somewhere between a hot bath and a breath of cool air on a warm day, like blankets fresh out of the dryer and running through sprinklers. It felt like knowing that whatever monsters were out there, mommy and daddy could chase them away. It was a family, it was belonging, it was being safe… it made sense in the simplest of ways. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do." His shakes had stopped, and Peter was letting out a pleased rumble from deep in his chest, sub vocal approval. Alpha.   
Stiles sat up suddenly, all but crawling into Peter's lap to kiss him.   
"Thank you."   
It still felt like betrayal. It still was a stupid, dangerous decision, but it was… it felt like being drunk, or high, or maybe just an extension of his still pressing state of incredible horniness, but…   
Speaking of that, Lydia was beside him now, and he turned to her, reaching out for her, holding her close to him.   
Even in his favorite daydreams, it was never as good as this. 

Peter was turning them, adjusting them, even as Lydia was squirming, and before Stiles exactly knew what was happening, Lydia was on him and Peter was… he was inside him. Not by much, but… it hurt. It hurt but it felt good and he could feel himself inside of her, and he could feel inside of himself and he could feel all of them, and all that pleasure stacked up with such a tiny bit of pain… and it was already fading, changing, he felt full, and warm, and hungry, needing more, but every tiny shift was almost agonizing with the weight of it.

"It's so much better with three." Lydia gasped out, circling her hips and driving her crotch against him, helping to seat Peter deeper inside him in the process. 

"Like everything else," Peter said, his voice gone low and rough, and just this side of control, "We're stronger in numbers." 

And there wasn't really a signal, or a thought that any of them registered, but they were moving, synchronized, racing forward together and Lydia and Stiles were crying, and Peter was… he was holding so hard to control, and Lydia was reaching around Stiles and pressing her lips to Peter's, and Stiles could feel his fangs on her lips and feel the fingers on his hips beginning to grow, the claws extending, and he pulled harder against the supple roundness of her ass, straining into her, and they shifted, racing, reaching, speeding up…  
They tipped, though who started the motion probably none of them could tell, and Stiles slipped out, and Lydia, on her back now, reached down to help him get back in, and Peter was sliding more and more of himself inside, until his balls were slapping against Stiles's skin, and Lydia moaned like it was a plea, and maybe it would have hurt but there was too much other and Stiles was coming and Lydia was chanting out yes yes yes and Peter was still going, his hips snapping almost brutally up inside of them, moving Stiles into Lydia again and again and then it was white and hot and warm and they collapsed, but rolled, and had they moved, or just fallen curled up together? And did it matter? 

Lydia snuggled her face against Stiles's chest, looking up at him while he slept, before meeting the eyes of her Alpha. 

Peter was smiling down at her, looking absolutely pleased, like the cat who'd gotten the cream. 

She moved as if to speak, and he pressed a finger to her lips, gesturing at the newest member of their little family. 

"We should get him home before his father notices him missing." 

She smiled fondly at them, and nodded, sitting up and stretching before beginning to dress herself. 

Let them soak in the feeling of completion for a little while. Peter had gotten the one he'd picked out.   
Once he'd come down from his power high, then she'd worry about asking for her little favor. She was sure he wouldn't object.   
After all, the more of them there were, the stronger they would be.


End file.
